Walk in My Shoes
by NaiveEve
Summary: What if, by the powers of some supernatural force, House and Cuddy were to switch bodies? Odd HouseCuddy pairing. Now rated M for naughty words and descriptions.
1. Once in a Blue Moon

Question: What if, by the powers of some supernatural force, Cuddy and House were to switch bodies?

Answer: Craziness would ensue.

I nicked this idea from an Australian movie called 'Dating the Enemy.' I wanted to write something completely different, but I haven't done my research, so I'm not sure if there already exists a House MD fanfic where any of the characters switch bodies. If there is, can someone let me know, cos I don't want to flog a dead horse.

* * *

**Walk in My Shoes**

**1**

**Once in a Blue Moon**

House forces his weight onto the ostentatious doors of the hospital administrator's office, swinging them open casually and striding into the room, well aware of, but seemingly oblivious to the impending lecture.

'Get out!' Cuddy exclaims, hands on her hips.

House's brow is elevated in surprise.

'What, you don't want to berate me first? Not even just a teeny little bit?'

'I cannot see you right now House. I'm _absolutely_ livid!'

'I can tell. You've got that cute little wrinkle above your nose. That, and you look as if you're about to bare your teeth and skink them into my neck. It's a blue moon tonight, isn't that a ceremonious event for you vampires?'

'Because of you,' she says sternly, ignoring his comment and pointing her finger at him like a loaded gun.

He rolls his eyes.

'Here we go,' he says, 'you couldn't resist, could you?'

'Because of you,' she continues in her hardest voice, 'I have been trapped in this hospital for fifty-two hours!'

'Needed to make sure my patient stayed put,' he says matter-of-factly.

'Yeah, well you got your way,' Cuddy replies, 'he stayed in here alright, and _so did all the rest of us!'_

'He's alive now,' House counters, 'he wouldn't have been if he had walked through that door.'

'You caused an imaginary outbreak of SARS so that you could have the hospital quarantined and locked down!' she shouts.

'Stop shouting,' he says, 'you're turning me on… and you don't want to see what happens when I'm horny. Or then again, maybe you do!'

He eyes her unconvincing businesswoman attire. She wears black. An impossibly tight pencil shirt and matching jacket. No blouse underneath, apparently she's going for the peekaboo lingerie look. Tied around her delicate neck is a silk, leopard print scarf – just a hint at her naughty side. He can't help imagining that she is wearing a matching leopard print bra and panties. _Fantastic._ What better outfit to wear for fifty-two consecutive hours in a quarantine lock-down, he thinks. He considers putting this to her when her voice interrupts his train of thought.

'Do you have _any idea_ how much money your little escapade has cost this hospital?'

'At least it gave the guys in the suits some practice. Think of it as the equivalent to a fire drill.'

'You really do have an inflated sense of grandeur House. You need to get over yourself, and realise that world is full of _other people_. Its people like _me_ who have to cop the flack for your ludicrous behaviour, while you get of Scot free!'

He stands in front of her, displaying a bored expression.

She takes a deep breath.

'Well maybe not this time,' she says.

'What?' he demands, suddenly becoming very interested in the conversation.

'We will discuss the terms of your employment tomorrow,' she says gravely.

'You can't fire me!' he shouts, 'I have tenure.'

'I'm sure we can find some sort of loophole in the contract.'

His eyes widen. She is serious.

'Wha…bu…?' he starts.

She is surprised to see _the Dr House_ wordless and wit free.

'Christ!' she says, feeling bad, trying to offer an explanation, 'you've done some incredibly stupid things House, but this… _this_ is takes the cake! You're really leaving me with no choice.'

'You _do_ have a choice… I pull my weight around here! Sure, I'm behind in my paper work and clinic duty is more optional than compulsory for me…'

'Do you have any idea of the difficulty of the job of keeping this hospital afloat?' she says, interrupting him.

'I could do it,' he says boldly.

'What!'

'Sure,' he replies, grinning a self-satisfied grin, 'I can really see myself sitting behind that big old desk of yours.'

'There's no way you could handle my job, not when you're used to your current duties. I would _love_ to be you House. You saunter in here at any hour of the morning, have Cameron make you coffee and dote on you, then you perve at her ass for a couple of hours, scribble a few words on the whiteboard, spit a few derogatory comments here and there and leave by four thirty.'

'Ha,' he scoffs, 'I would love to be _you!_ You walk around displaying your perky cleave, sticking your nose in everyone's business…couple of corporate lunches here and there, sucking up for the big bucks, sign a couple of things and trot on home to watch _Desperate Housewives_.'

She shakes her head angrily.

'I _wish_ you could walk in my shoes for a day,' she says.

'I _wish_ you could walk in _my_ shoes for a day,' he counters, 'although you wouldn't really be walking, you'd be limping, and having to stop and find a resting place every now and then.'

'Oh, yeah, throw the cripple card on the table…' she starts.

'Well what have you got to complain about in that arena, huh? You're able bodied!'

'I guess we'll never see eye to eye,' she admits becoming bored with the argument and snatching her handbag from the desk.

She moves past him to the coat rack on the far side of the room.

'Where are you going?' he demands, striding across the room to meet her.

'I'm going home,' she says exhaustedly, donning her overcoat, '_finally_, I need a shower and sleep.'

'No,' he says as she flicks the light switch and pushes through her office door, 'this conversation isn't over, you can't just…'

'Yes,' she says, 'it is over. We will continue it in the morning.'

And with that, she leaves him standing outside her office, the click of her heels echoing in his ears as she disappears down the hall.

**………**

Outside the hospital, in the brutal ugliness of the cement car park, she shivers as she stares up at the moon.

House was right. A blue moon. The third full moon in a season of four.

It actually has a bluish tinge.

She feels an odd tingle throughout her body.

The atmosphere is surreal. Supernatural, eerie.

She is overcome with the strange feeling that something significant is about to take place.

**………**

On the opposite side of hospital, in the handicap bay of the cement reserve, as he throws his leg over his bike he experiences a most bizarre sensation.

It is as if there is something _crawling_ under his skin.  
His blood runs cold.

He pauses for a second, focusing his attention on this feeling, only to realise that it has passed.

He looks down into his lap to see the alluring moon reflected in the plastic shield of his helmet.

Almost involuntarily, as if he is a string puppet, his head is raised to the luminous sphere.

Radiant, shimmering.

It almost seems to be _pulsing._

Foreboding.

He is overcome with the strange feeling that something significant is about to take place.

* * *

Wanna see what happens in the next chapter? Cuddy and House will awaken to a surprise. 


	2. I’ve got you Under My Skin

**2**

**I've got you Under My Skin**

The first thing he notices upon waking, is the profound absence of leg pain.

The second thing he notices is the smell of… rose scented pot purée?

His eyes open and he scans his surroundings.

Blinding sunlight filtering through the windows. Yellow. Everything is yellow. Yellow walls, yellow curtains, yellow bedspread. There are other colours too. Lilac, powder pink, baby blue. Pastel. Pastel, pastel, pastel.

He is not in his own bedroom.

Yet this bedroom is slightly familiar. He has been here once before, without the owner's knowledge.

Cuddy's bedroom?

_Fuck,_ he thinks, alarmed._ I slept with Cuddy?_

He jolts upright in the bed, only to feel a strange jiggle at his chest. His hands move to clasp two full breasts.

_Breasts? What!_

These are not his hands, he realises. They are small hands with slender fingers.

_A woman's hands!_

'What the mother-fucking hell!' he exclaims in a recognizable voice.

The woman's hand moves to cover his mouth in surprise.

_Cuddy's voice._

He leaps out of the bed, as if he had discovered a Tarantula under the covers. He looks down to see lovely, smooth, shapely, hair-free legs and a flimsy, transparent nightgown.

'Jesus Christ!' he whines in Cuddy's nagging voice.

Frantically, he rushes into the bathroom to find a full length mirror.

Sure enough – the reflection reveals a mass of dark, dishevelled curls framing a face of delicate yet sharp features. Curved brows, large blue eyes, long black lashes, Roman nose and pretty lips.

He moves the hands of the body to touch the face and watches the reflection do the same.

'What, what, what, what, WHAT!' he repeats, hearing Cuddy's voice loudly and clearly.

He grips the sides of the mirror with Cuddy's hands before moving Cuddy's head to peer behind.

Wooden back. He steps away from the mirror, places a hand on its top and sends it spinning in its frame. He watches as the wooden back and the reflection of Cuddy – standing bewildered, are each displayed to him intermittently as the mirror continues to revolve before slowing and coming to a complete stop.

No tricks.

So, the reflection is real, and it is consistent with what he sees when he looks down at the body he is currently occupying.

A hallucination? He had experienced it before. Scary stuff. But somehow, this seems different.

He moves to the sink and rummages through a small box of jewellery, selecting a black marquisette broach, unhooking the pin and stabbing it into Cuddy's finger.

'Oww!' he winces, in what he thinks is a pathetically girly voice.

He raises the finger to Cuddy's mouth, sucking it, while deep in thought.

He is a man of science. Cold, hard, concrete facts. There is no room in his brain for religion, superstition, folk law, supernatural, paranormal, or any brand of inexplicable bullshit.

_This is one is a bamboozler,_ he thinks.

He looks up at the mirror above the sink now, regarding Cuddy's face.

He raises her brows, pouts her mouth, frowns and smiles.

'House, you're behind with your discharge summaries,' he says aloud, manipulating Cuddy's voice so that it sounds as if she is mocking herself.

He releases a girly giggle.

'House, you were due in the clinic half an hour ago.'

He laughs again.

'_Oh, House,'_ he says, pushing Cuddy's breasts together and peering down the front of the nightgown at the valley he has created, 'you're such a stud. I _want_ you, I want you to _take me_, _now!_'

He throws Cuddy's head back, laughing wickedly.

He knows that whatever this thing is – it _will_ have an explanation. He decides that until the time that he has discovered this explanation though, he will be sure to enjoy himself.

Something like a vacation.

**………**

The first thing she notices upon waking is the profound presence of leg pain.

'Hmmmuggghhhh,' she mumbles, shifting uncomfortably on the oddly firm mattress.

She thinks that her voice seems rather deep and raspy, though she attributes this to the fact that her vocal cords have been resting for eight hours.

'Mmmmm,' she mumbles again.

Her hand moves to her throat as she begins thinking that she may have contracted laryngitis or pharyngitis. She freezes when she feels the prickle of whiskers at her fingertips and her eyes blink open abruptly.

And all at once she is overwhelmed with a plethora of unfamiliar sights, smells and bodily sensations.

'Fuck!' she exclaims, jolting upright.

She recognises House's voice immediately and in her utter confusion she looks around the room for him. Of course it is only after another short second before she realises that she had emitted the voice.

The room is dark. Heavy blue curtains shield it from the sunlight.

She squints, and is able to make out the shapes of ascetic wooden furniture.

Hastily, she attempts to move off the bed and finds herself keeling over in pain, clutching a thick, muscular thigh and rubbing an area which seems to dip as if part of it is missing.

By this stage she is fully aware that something is terribly, and disturbingly wrong, yet she is distracted from her cognizing by the throbbing pain in this body.

She lifts a pair of masculine hands, and before turning them over and inspecting them, she slips a couple of their fingers behind the elastic of the pyjama pants that the body is wearing, and peers inside.

She had meant to find the source of the throbbing pain, but is distracted by a rather large, long, thick penis.

'_Oh!'_ she exclaims, strangely aroused.

She pulls the hands back suddenly, letting the elastic of the pants snap against the body's skin.

After a moment, she peers inside the pants again, being sure to focus on the thigh. She recognises the ugly, puckered scar tissue that she discovers. She had seen this two times before. Once when the wound was new, the sides of skin held together artificially – sutured, as its owner lay in the recovery room of the hospital, and once when its owner had displayed it to her in her office, in a desperate attempt for a morphine shot.

She is feeling faint, dizzy, nauseous.

Insane.

She pushes the body off the bed and attempts to stride forth. The right leg buckles under the weight of the body and she has to direct the arm to clutch at the bedpost in order stabilize it.

She realises she cannot walk. She limps towards a door, fumbling at the doorknob with shaking hands before opening it and continuing down a hall.

She thinks she needs something – something to assist her in walking. Something like a cane.

She finds a bathroom and stands in front of the sink, peering into the mirror at Gregory House.

Messy greying hair, piercing blue eyes, petulant mouth, a few days worth of stubble.

The dizzy feeling takes hold. The head nods and the eyes close and the body falls to the floor unconsciously.


	3. Be Careful What You Wish For

**3**

**Be Careful What You Wish For...**

He walks down the carpeted stairs in the centre of Cuddy's house, and when he reaches the bottom, he decides that he should turn, walk back up the stairs and descend them once again – simply because he can. After repeating this sequence two more times – alternating between running and then jumping, he strides into Cuddy's kitchen in search of breakfast. After ransacking the fridge and pantry and finding only low fat yogurt, fruit and muesli, he begins his quest for her supply of high-in-fat, high-in-cholesterol, high-in-sugar, high-in-salt delicacies for emergency PMT/bad blind date/bad day at work circumstances.

'Come on Cuddy,' he says aloud, 'I know you have a stash of naughty goodies – every woman does… the question is, where do you hide it?'

After opening and closing every draw and door, he finds a ceramic jar perched atop the high cabinets.

'Ah huh!' he exclaims.

He hops to sit Cuddy's body on the bench top and reaches for the jar.

'What's your poison?' he says delightedly as he peeks into the secret container.

'Double choc chip fudge cookies,' he says, 'yeah baby! We're talking two grams of fat in each delicious bite!'

After messily devouring three of the cookies and littering Cuddy's lap and the bench top with crumbs in the process, he is interrupted from his feast by a loud grinding noise.

He leans forward to peer out through window and spies a familiar red car pulling into the driveway.

After a moment, the front door is thrown open and he is presented with the sight of himself –hunched forward, clutching at the doorframe with one hand and his walking cane with the other, gasping for breath, his eyes darting wildly about the room.

'You drove the Vette?' House demands, contorting Cuddy's voice into a high pitched whine.

She stares – bewildered at the sight of herself seated on the bench top, cookie in hand shouting at… herself.

'What, you thought I was going to ride your bike?' she says after a moment.

'Did you ever learn to drive a stick shift? That god-awful crunching grinding sound means it's time to change gears – _two blocks ago!'_

'Yeah, well I had a little something on my mind!'

'You'll wear the clutch out!'

'Fuck the clutch House…' she says, awkwardly guiding his body into the kitchen, 'forget the fact that I was driving your car, aren't you a little more concerned that I'm driving your _body_?'

'Yeah, about that…' he says, staring down at Cuddy's breasts.

'What the hell has happened?' she demands.

'Beats me,' he says, shrugging Cuddy's shoulders, 'I went to sleep in my rickety old vessel, and woke up in your hot little bod. Not exactly what I expected when I used to think about being _inside_ you.'

'House!' she spits, before snatching the cookie from her own hand and throwing into the sink.

'You're right. This is not the time for sex jokes. It's kinda cool though. I feel like I've traded a rusty old Range Rover for a speedy little sports car.'

'Again with the cars!' she exclaims.

'Hey, it was your analogy,' he contends.

'_Oh, Jesus Christ,'_ she whines, biting House's fingernails.

He watches as she shifts the weight of his body from one leg to another, attempting to find a comfortable standing position. His white knuckled hand has a firm grip on the wooden handle of his cane.

He curls Cuddy's lips into a complacent grin.

'How's the leg?' he asks.

'Yeah, yeah, it sucks to be you!' she snaps, 'so much so, in fact, that my thoughts are occupied with trying to figure this out. You, on the other hand, don't seem to be too perturbed.'

'Yeah, you certainly got the raw end of the deal, I've upgraded, you've downgraded.'

She screws House's face into an expression of frustration and he imagines that he often appears this way in her presence. Just when he is thinking that is a rather handsome devil – although there are a few deep lines on the forehead and around the eyes…. she interrupts him with his own smooth, deep voice.

'You're the brain,' she says, 'this is your latest case… you have to work this out, _we_ have to work this out. Got any ideas?'

'Quantum Physics.'

'Ok,' she says, 'good start, but can you be more specific?'

'Nope,' he replies, stretching her arms above her head, before hopping off the bench, 'it's barely eight am. I do my best work in the pm.'

'Argh!' she scowls.

'Hm, I'm a sexy beast when I'm angry,' he says, manipulating Cuddy's voice to a soft, husky tone.

'Remember last night, in my office,' she says, tapping his cane methodically on the parquet floor, 'we both said that we wished…'

'What are you saying?' he interrupts her, 'this is a result of astral travel, an outer-body experience gone wrong? Blue moon, hocus-pocus, be careful what you wish for?'

'I guess so.'

'That's ludicrous.'

'Ludicrous? LUDICROUS? I went to bed last night, as a woman and I woke up with beard, a bum leg and a penis! Yes this is LUDICROUS!'

'Ok,' he says, furrowing Cuddy's brow, focusing her eyes on the repetitive movement of his cane, 'this is ludicrous, but I don't believe that it is beyond explanation. And I don't believe in magic. There is a scientific explanation for this.'

'For the fact that we have switched bodies?' she asks doubtfully.

'Yeah,' he insists, 'this is groundbreaking stuff – a scientific first.'

'Well we need to fix it, and fast.'

'Uh, uh,' he shakes Cuddy's head, 'I'm good, but I'm not that good. We're going to need time to figure this one out.'

'So we have to…' she starts.

'Yep – temporarily trade lives.'

'Oh god,' she says, 'work! We have to be at work within the next hour.'

'Well I do,' he says, 'I mean you do – your body has to be at work. Your sweet little ass has to be seated in the throne by nine am. I, – my body doesn't have to be there till about ten.'

'Well that doesn't make it any better,' she says, 'I'd prefer to arrive, I mean, I'd prefer for you – your body to arrive at the same time as me – my body, so I can keep tabs on you.'

She shakes his head at the semantic confusion.

'You don't want me acting suspiciously?' he says.

'God no!' she says.

'Well I think it'll be a little suspicious if my body arrives at work early,' he says, hoping she will agree so that he may have free reign for at least a good hour.

'No,' she says and she watches as he rolls her eyes, 'I'll think of an excuse. The fallout from _'you'_ being early to work will be much less disastrous than the fallout from _'me'_ being unmonitored and reclining in my office with _Led Zeppelin_ blaring from the speakers intended for conference calls.'

House displays a smile on Cuddy's face as he considers the many prospects.

'Oh god,' she says, watching the mischievous grin shaping her own lips, 'this is going to be a nightmare!'

'Depends which way you look at it,' he says, 'we could see it as a learning opportunity.'

'How on earth can you be so optimistic about this?' she demands.

He shrugs her shoulders, 'I think it's the novelty of being pain free.'

'Speaking of which' he says, eyeing his own body and noticing the sweat glistening on his brow, 'I'm guessing you took two Vicodin when you woke up – well not right away, I'm sure there was a substantial time period of hand flapping, hysterical wailing and generally ridiculous surprised behaviour before you managed to find the little bottle of magic. You're bound to be an anally retentive early riser, so I'm guessing that was about five thirty. They say you should take two pills every four to six hours, but you'll find that my body needs about one or two every three hours. That means your due for another hit.'

She clutches his thigh and nods, 'Jesus Christ!' she moans in pain, 'you know what one of the first signs of addiction is, House?'

'I know,' he says, 'tolerance. There is also a large psychological component to the pain. Not only has my system developed a tolerance to the effects of the drug, but after having had to live with it for so many years, I have also developed a slight tolerance to the pain.'

He watches her – trapped in his body – a prison of pain: sweating profusely now, the colour draining from his face.

'But that tolerance is only in my mind – and my mind is in your body at the moment,' he continues, _'your _mind is completely new to this experience and is in my body. The pain is going to be excruciating – like it was in the first year after my surgery.'

She looks up at him with his own sad blue eyes. She is remembering this time in his life – remembering his regular checkups at the hospital, remembering the very first week after his discharge – seeing his body folded in pain on the examination bench as she administered a sympathetic shot of morphine. And now, she is recalling a distant memory, conjuring it from the depths of her mind – it had been lost, but now it is resurfacing – forming clearly, taking shape. She is remembering holding his hand. She is remembering how tightly he had squeezed her fingers. She is remembering that she had sat with him and let him squeeze as tightly as he needed to until the drug had taken effect. She thinks that he would not remember this. The pain had been too intense – blinding him, making him senseless to anything else. His eyes had been clenched shut and she had watched him. She had wanted to cry for him.

'I didn't bring any Vicodin,' she says, his voice delivering these words quietly.

'Good thing you're so anal, that even in your state of shock, you managed to dress me in my usual ensemble,' he says.

He motions with her finger. 'I keep a bottle in every blazer,' he says in Cuddy's sympathetic voice.

'That's lesson number one in being me – the little white pills are your best friend – keep them handy,' he says.

She slides House's right hand into the breast pocket of his blazer and retrieves the yellow plastic tube. His hands shake as she lifts them to his face to consume the friendly white pills.

'It's right on eight o'clock now,' he adds, gazing at the clock above the kitchen cabinets, 'we have less than one hour to teach each other the basics…'


	4. Being Me: 101

**4**

**Being Me: 101**

'No!' Cuddy exclaims, throwing House's hands into the air, 'it's heal and toe, _heal and toe_. Just walk normally – stop dragging my feet!'

'I _can't_ work normally,' he says, 'not when wearing these torture implements you women call stilettos!'

'You have to get this right – I wear stilettos everyday. People will be asking questions if I turn up in ballet flats.'

'Alright,' he sighs, stamping one of Cuddy's feet, 'I'll try really hard to walk normally and make your ass sway in that hypnotising way. You sit on said ass for most of the day anyway – shouldn't be a major drama. Can we move on to me now?'

'Alright,' Cuddy says, eyeing the clock.

Twenty minutes.

'Good,' House says, displaying a wide smile on Cuddy's face, 'Greg House, 101 – aka: lessons in being cool.'

Cuddy rolls House's eyes.

'Under no circumstances should you iron my clothing, shave my face more than once a week, eat with my mouth closed or say please or thankyou.'

'Great – pearls of wisdom,' she says in House's trademark tone of sarcasm, 'have any more deep insights?'

'Right so you think you know me well enough to carry this off, huh?'

She rolls his eyes again. 'Breast jokes – usually targeted at me, wise cracks about Chase's hair, Forman's racial heritage, Cameron's moral certitude and Wilson's failed marriages. Insult and _assault_ patients, damage hospital equipment, skip clinic duty, blow the hospital budget and stir some litigious activity to threaten mine and the hospital's reputation.'

'Ah, nice summary, but you've forgotten one important thing…'

'Which is…?'

'My job.'

'Which is….?' she repeats, a playful grin appearing on House's face.

'Ha, very funny. But how are you going to handle it when you've got a whiteboard full of mysterious, mismatching symptoms, a patient circling the drain, and three wide eyed young docs staring at you for answers?'

'Consultation,' she says simply, 'we're still going to be doing our _own_ jobs, only there will be certain…_restrictions_ on us, so we will meet in my office regularly to discuss our next moves, step by step.'

House displays an unattractive, sceptical expression on Cuddy's face.

'What, you thought I was going to trust _you_ to run the hospital?' she asks.

House stands straight in Cuddy's body and confidently places her hands on her hips.

'Yeah, and you thought I was going to trust _you_ to be a _real_ doctor?'

'Ouch,' she says mildly, 'you got me in a soft spot.'

'So,' House says, raising Cuddy's perfectly plucked brows, 'we're going to be spending hours and hours together in your office. People will talk, you know a great majority of the staff already think we're boning each other?'

'People _will talk_…' she responds, 'if you suddenly lose the ability to solve mysterious cases, and I suddenly let the hospital fall apart. We have to be very careful, this is _serious_ House.'

'I know. But I'm finding it difficult to take this seriously since we've swapped jiggly bits,' he says, cupping Cuddy's breasts and kneading them in a circular motion.

She cringes in disgust and glances away.

'You know, I've always wondered if these were real,' House says, 'I thought they had to be implants – too perky and firm. Now I know for sure, you're one hundred percent woman!'

She releases an unimpressed sigh and gestures to the stairs.

'Come on, we need to get you dressed.'

'Oh can I pick the outfit?!' he says, widening Cuddy's eyes.

'No, I'm not going to work dressed like a transvestite, or a hooker.'

'Well in that case, we'd better go out and buy you a whole new wardrobe!'

………

Cuddy hooks House's cane over the handle of the door and limps forward slowly to open her closet.

House, who in a matter of hours, has taken to his new, able bodied status, bounces frenetically across the room, and pushes past his own body to access the contents of the bureau.

'Where do you keep your delicates?' he says, quickly rolling out draw after draw.

'Its true,' she says, 'men never mature beyond the age of fifteen.'

'Come on Cuddles,' he says, 'every girl knows that the right outfit starts with the right underwear.'

'Basic black should do for what I have in mind,' she says.

'Bingo!' House exclaims, finding the draw.

'I don't think you have _basic_ anything,' House replies, snatching handfuls of satin and lace in vibrant colours – cerise, aqua, indigo, and tossing the tiny undergarments over Cuddy's shoulder onto the bed.

'Here,' Cuddy says, shuddering with arousal at the sight of House's large hands and nimble fingers lifting a simple black thong and underwire bra.

House ignores this offer and continues to rifle through the draw.

'Leopard print!' he exclaims, 'I knew it, you _naughty_ girl. Got anything crotchless?'

'No!' Cuddy exclaims loudly, startling herself with the volume of House's deep voice.

'Oh this is _delicious_!' House says, 'I'm going to want to touch myself – _you_, rather, all day long.'

'Keep my hands off of me!' Cuddy says, snatching a red lace camisole from her own hands.

'That's a little hard to do,' House replies, running Cuddy's hands over her hips before caressing her breasts again.

'Here,' she says, holding out the black underwear set, 'just go into the bathroom and put these on.'

Cuddy regards the wicked smile dancing across her own face.

'Oh god,' she says, 'you're going to have to…'

'Relax,' he replies, 'I'm a doctor, there's nothing I haven't seen before.'

He turns and skips towards the bathroom. With a thought, Cuddy propels House's body forth to grip the arm of her own body.

'Wait,' she says, 'just get changed here. It's certainly nothing _I_ haven't seen before.'

'Yeah,' he says, 'but not through those eyes!'

With this comment, House swiftly pulls Cuddy's white cotton nightgown over her head and discards it on the floor – leaving her body standing in nothing but a pair of white cotton and lace panties.

'Wow!' he exclaims, looking down, 'ah…gah….'

Cuddy watches herself staring at her own breasts – hyperventilating.

'My god this is weird!' she exclaims.

'I'll say – but it's great, I get to experience _what it feels like for a girl.'_

He laughs, 'Your body is arouses, you're all we….'

'Alright!' she exclaims, striding towards her nearly naked body as quickly as House's leg will allow her to, 'hurry up and put this on,' she holds the bra out to him again.

He stares blankly before furrowing Cuddy's brow.

'I've only ever taken them off,' he says.

With an exasperated sigh, she unhooks the bra, inserts one of her arms through each strap, turns her body and hooks the clasp shut between her shoulder blades. She turns her body again, and adjusts each breast to sit neatly in the cups.

'I've just had a thought…' she says.

House lifts Cuddy's head, momentarily tearing her eyes away from her breasts.

'I don't trust you,' she continues, 'we're going to have to nominate a house, and live together.'

'Mine's closer to the hospital,' he says.

'Mine's larger,' she contends, 'more space – I have a guest bedroom.'

'Mine has tivo,' he says.

'So does mine.'

'Mine is in close proximity to the _Happy Panda._'

'Pfft,' she says, 'you want Chinese? _The Luck Dragon_ is one block over – best wontons in town. And anyway, you certainly won't be filling _my_ body with deep fried duck on a regular basis.'

'You're no fun Cuddy. You know, you'd be less bitchy if you splashed out once in a while.'

'I have more friends,' she says, ignoring this comment, 'more people to see, so we have to stay here.'

'Ah – but that might be a problem,' he argues, 'more explaining to do – what if I _misbehave_?'

'Shit, you're right.'

'Wilson's the only one who ever comes to my place – and he's a push over.'

'Then what will I tell people?'

'Tell people you have termites – you're having the place fumigated and you're staying in a hotel room that isn't conducive to entertaining guests.'

'Alright,' she says hesitantly, 'we'll pick up my stuff – well your stuff really, this afternoon, but right now, we have to get to work.'


End file.
